The Frequency of Vanishing
The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash anything away; it just made the grime shine. I'm Miller, a private investigator with a liver that's seen better days and a bank account that's currently a joke. I spend my nights in a neon-lit office that smells of stale cigarettes and regret, waiting for a client who isn't running from the law. Then came the dame. She was all silk and desperation, with eyes...
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